


Fucking Your Mates Dad

by charientism



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:05:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charientism/pseuds/charientism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a soon-to-be high school graduate with a big crush on his friend's Dad. Which might not be a problem if he was of legal age and aforementioned 'dad' wasn't a very married Erik Lehnsherr. But Erik, with his distant marriage, doesn't really see why he should deny those eager blue eyes and cherry red lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Your Mates Dad

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt at a now-defunct kinkcomm on LJ; I figure if I upload it I might actually finish it!

Charles glanced up from where he was laying, stretched out on the living room floor, somewhere between the television and the coffee table. He had come over to hang out with Alex and finish their lab reports together-- it was a large project and each of the boys had done half the work. Problem was, when Charles had shown up all bright eyed and motivated to work Alex was no where to be found. Mr. Lehnsherr, Alex's obnoxiously attractive adopted father was the only one home. Charles had stammered his way through an explanation; pressing that he needed Alex's notes to finish and the man had been kind enough to let him in.

Which was why ten minutes later he was stretched out on the floor. One elbow dug into the carpet, his palm propping his head up and little bored sighs coming every couple of minutes. Legs bent at the knees and crossing and uncrossing at the ankles idly. The black and gold pen in his hands twirled through his fingers when he was doing formulas, and then pressed against his lips and occasionally sliding past to tap his teeth when he was forming sentences.

He had dug Alex's papers out of his bag, but wary of losing them or not coming to class if his sister passed along her flu, he remained at the Lehnsherr's doing his paperwork on the floor. Bright eyes flickering up on occasion but he didn't move too much-- it was hard enough to focus on something so boring-- let alone with Alex's step-father wandering around with that very distracting... everything about him. He bit his lip and frowned at himself, forcing his eyes onto the paper.

Erik had at one time felt bad for the Xavier kid. His son was not the easiest to get along with and had a habit of disappearing at all the wrong times. However Charles had stuck by Alex and his obnoxious mood swings longer than any other friend. In his mind that meant the boy either liked the treatment or had no idea what a real friend was.

He wondered if he knew any better. The gold band on his ring finger signaled his marriage to Emma Frost (who had stubbornly chosen to keep her last name), a woman who kept more late hours at her office than any man, himself included. They'd only been married for barely five years and already he was asking himself if this was worth the trouble.

Walking back from the kitchen, half drunk beer in hand, he leaned against the couch and watched Charles pretend to work. There hadn't been a single new line written on that paper in about ten minutes. He knew, those bright baby blue eyes were very noticeable.

"Did you need something, Charles? Maybe something to drink? We've got milk, lemonade, or a beer if you're so inclined." As Erik spoke Charles glanced up, the cap of the pen folding his lower lip downward and his brows knit for the moment it took him to register that he was actually being spoken to. A light strawberry colored flush crossed his cheeks as he stared up at him for a second or two longer.

"I'll take a beer Mr. Lehnsherr," He made his best straight face in response; almost sure he wouldn't get one (being a runt, other kid's parents often joked about this kind of thing with him, but it never went anywhere). Not that he minded juice or milk; he couldn't remember the last time he had a glass of milk. No lemonade though, that often didn't settle well with him and he didn't want to end up whining about a stomach ache to Alex's dad... step-dad... whatever he was.

His mock-serious expression cracked finally, amusement flooding his features as he lowered his head, pretending once more to be occupied with the paperwork laid out on the floor before him. It was scattered around a bit but he knew where each bit was and could easily tell which was his and which was Alex's notes. It was easy enough with his well practiced almost feminine scrawl and Alex's more normal block-type print.

When the boy looked down Erik let his gaze trail over Charles' body for longer than it needed to before he pushed away from the wall. Walking back into the kitchen he meant to grab the jug of milk, he really did, but his hand came to rest on one of the bottle necks of the beer and he thought fuck it. If the kid got too wasted from one beer he could just sleep it off on the couch.

Kicking the fridge door shut, he walked back out into the living room. He opened his mouth to call out to him, but when the boy didn't look up at the sound of his shuffling he took that as an invitation. Nudging Charles' butt with his foot, he leans over him to set the beer down on his paper with a smirk watching Charles startle out of whatever thoughts were swimming in that little head. "Your beer."

The boy moved to get up, settling his hands on the ground his back arched cat-like, popping some of the stiff vertebra before he rocked back and sat back on his heels, knees on the ground for balance. Grabbing the lid he gave it a twist and then winced as the cap dug into his palm leaving small indentations, tugging the bottom of his shirt up, not at all bothered by (or really noticing) the flash of skin, the slim slice of white below his grey-blue tee with some abstract logo and his low slung blue jeans, as he tried to twist the lid off using his shirt as a shield-- no go. And Erik thinks it's funny watching him struggle with the bottle until there's that hint of skin - of his underwear and suddenly he feels a bit flush. Erik stares at Charles for a second, trying to comprehend what he said around that mouth of his. He shouldn't feel this way over a kid as old as his sometimes son. Meanwhile Charles wondered if a bottle opener was needed after another painful twist.

Turning his attention upward he stared at the older man from the floor, offering a nervous smile keeping Erik’s attention on his mouth (that mouth that for all the world looks too red to be natural and yet it's always that color, like he can't stop worrying it between his teeth). "Um, do you think you could open this for me?" He angles himself a little more toward Erik, one hand holding the bottle up and wagging the neck of it at him faintly.

"Thanks," He smiles and it's bright and full of teeth, because Charles is-- among other things-- too nice. Probably why he was friends with Alex, who was rather rowdy in comparison, who had even had picked on him when they first met; but Charles’ insistence on being nice won out and he had been begrudgingly accepted as Alex's friend at first-- it didn't hurt that he was brilliant; even if he slacked off occasionally due to boredom.

Lifting the beer to his lips he takes a swig and then grimaces a bit, trying to hide it. Beer tasted horrible. His tongue darted out licking his lips and then glancing up toward the older man, curious how he could enjoy something that tasted like... well he wasn't sure what it tasted like, but he knew it wasn't something he enjoyed. Still, in an attempt to seem more mature than he was and took another heavy drink from the beer.

"It's not too bad," He mutters in his best I've-had-all-kinds-of-beer tone, leaning toward him-- just a bit, not enough to get himself in trouble-- hand sliding down his own inner thigh before resting on the floor between his legs to support his weight as he leaned forward. "I like stronger stuff, myself."

Goody-two shoes Charles drinking anything heavier than milk? The thought made Erik burst out witha laugh. He hadn't realized the kid was a comedian.

"Tell you what," He said as soon as he could speak without smirking too much, "You finish that beer and I'll get you something stronger." His eyes dared to look down, following the line of that skinny white arm. "That is unless it's too much for you? I can always get you some milk." Teasing, he looked back up at those blue eyes, his lopsided grin tugging up the corner of his mouth.

Charles flushed at the laugh, a small little muffled laugh of his own cropping up in nervousness. He wasn't entirely sure why he was being laughed at but he could hazard a guess. "I can totally handle this, it's nothing." He protested as he picked the bottle up again, taking a long swig from it. Truth was, he could handle drinking it, a basic beer wasn’t that strong, he just didn't like the taste. A few drops licked from the lip of the bottle before it could slide down over his hand, he took another long swig. "Do you drink this brand all the time?" He asks as forcing the best causal tone he could manage, as if was going to go get some of the beer for himself later.

Charles hadn't ever really drank except half a plastic cup of warm beer at a party his sister dragged him to-- and that he had just nursed the entire evening while curled up on one corner of the couch.

“No I don't normally drink it. I just wanted something different." Erik stood, grabbing his beer when he stepped over Charles to sit on the couch. The boy was making him think obscene thoughts, thoughts he should be reserving for scantily clad girls in the porno magazines. Except this wasn't his first beer for the evening and as taboo as the thoughts were, he was finding it harder and harder to care, especially when that mouth and those eyes looked far more eager and pliant than a flat image.

Once he's sitting, he crosses his legs with his ankle resting on his knee. "Why don't you take a break from that report thing?" The words caused the younger man to glance down to his papers and then back to Mr. Lehnsherr as if debating-- it was was rather short in nature seeing as he hadn't gotten anything done in the last fifteen minutes or so. Gripping the edge of the coffee table Charles sets his beer on it, using the leverage to push himself up, hips and then torso; it was a tad awkward seeing as one of his legs had gone to sleep.

Smiling sheepishly he eased around the furniture, casting a quick glance to the scattered magazines-- undoubtedly Lehnsherr’s Wife’s-- sitting himself down on the middle cushion with an innocuous little smile. "Thank you for letting me hang around-- I think Kurt might kill me if I failed this class." A nervous laugh as he took another long drink from the beer, mollified as soon as the words had left his lips-- it seemed attractive rendered him partially stupid. He was starting to ignore the bitter taste when it slid down his throat, settling the bottle between his thighs afterward to leave his hands open for that frequent gesturing.

Charles accepts the glass with a gracious tip of his head, turning it between his fingers for a second before taking a sip. It was then he was decently worried this was a test and Mr. Lehnsherr had given him rubbing alcohol. However, the man seemed to not mind it, and it was then Charles realized he had to swallow the liquid fire because spitting it back into the glass was so not attractive. Downing the bit, not with amental effort he would be proud of later (even if he was glad he didn't take more than a sip), he cleared his throat.

"The best?”

"Oh yes, the best. Every other way dulls the flavor." He comments, almost dryly, eyes drifting to Charles over the rim of his glass.

"Oh," The lithe student looks down into his cup, pursing his lips thoughtfully-- he would rather like to dull the flavor, perhaps with something that didn't taste like it was attempting to burn the taste buds off of his tongue. He forces another sip, sinking back into the couch and thinking he should have stuck to the beer. "So Alex and I are going to graduate soon, exciting huh?" Real subtle Charles, he bit the inside of his cheek; sometimes he wished he were mute. But That makes Erik laugh, actually laugh because who the fuck did Charles think Alex was? Downing the rest of his scotch in one gulp, he takes a moment to compose himself enough to actually swallow and not make a fool out of himself

"You mean you'll be graduating." There's another snicker as he fingers the side of the glass, "I doubt Alex will do much with his life, unlike you. What'll you be doing when you graduate? I hope it's college, we need more minds like yours in the world.".

Ducking his head and taking another sip of the legal poison, Charles can feel his cheeks heat at the complementary words. Pausing for a moment he nods, "Yeah, I'm applying at Harvard for the coming fall--" He chokes down another drink, "--For psychology, but really I'm hoping to do well enough to apply for the Rhodes Scholarship and go to Oxford for Genetics."

After a little pause he ads on quietly, "I think Alex could do well too, if he tried."

"Psychology, genetics," he whistled, clearly impressed. "I've got a literal Einstein sitting on my couch."

Leaning closer, he reached out to brush a finger against Charles' shoulder, shifting the thin fabric of his tee-shirt and exposing one of those prominent collarbones. "Let's not talk about Alex and all the things we want him to do. I much rather talk about you." A few beers and a scotch in his system made the pickup line come rather easy. It was cheap and cheesy, but effective on a naive kid like Charles who bit his lip to hide a smile, the tops of his cheeks burning red. Erik was starting to wonder now, after all the years Charles had been coming over to their place, how little attention he had allowed himself to give Charles's bright blue eyes or the blatant way the boy tried so hard to be friendly. It was an enduring trait, much like those cherry-red lips of his, which he currently found himself staring at and wondering if they really tasted like they looked.

"About me?" And Charles is genuinely amazed the words manage to make it out of his mouth without a stutter, but that's probably because he's busy staring at him like he can't breathe-- and maybe that's because he's forgotten how. His fingers curling a little tighter before he manages to make eye contact, "What about me?"


End file.
